Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pine recalls a stream Where laughing children once would play Through golden hours of yesterday. Its branches sway with secrets deep, Guarding promises souls keep— Of whispered dreams on summer nights, And hopes that soared to dizzy heights. Now travelers rest beneath its boughs, Hearing time’s gentle, faint carouse In every needle’s trembling sigh Beneath the vast and starry sky. Though seasons change and years unfold, This timeless tale remai...
